


it doesn't pay

by transvav



Category: Mianite - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Realm of Mianite, i named darkness cat! heehoo, non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transvav/pseuds/transvav
Summary: when the numbness settles in, and the cold is overbearing, all he knows, all he can even think, is that he's tired.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	it doesn't pay

**Author's Note:**

> another request <3 for park <3 tysm i love WRITING...... yeehaw folks

he’s tired.

he appreciates what he’s had, the past few worlds, but he’s so fucking _tired_. it’s always the same. one of them is inherently wrong, dangerous, evil, against the others. and one of them is always _dead_ , or lost, or completely out of the way. and the third just doesn’t seem to care. the isles are, of course, a little different, but by the time they make themselves properly known, he doesn’t want to deal with it. gods, he’s just‒

_don’t go to the ocean_ , mianite tells him across dimensions, and jordan spends the night out on the beach, watching the water lap up to the shore, so, so desperate to let it just engulf him, to let himself drift out to the nothingness. he’d thought, coming here, it’d be another situation like so many before it, but that this time he’d be able to stay with tom. this time, they’d have time to be _normal_. the gods wouldn’t make them fight. but that’s all it is, isn’t it, every time. every damn time.

he’d announced himself in the beginning with the intention of representing her, but‒ she was distant. didn’t want him. this wasn’t close enough to home, he thinks, she wasn’t his, and despite whatever _fate_ , whatever _prophecy_ ‒ he wasn’t hers, either. still, though, it’s in his best interest to try, isn’t it?

so he does. he’s a dutiful little solider, a good _captain_ , and he does his best for this version of her. builds her a temple to grant her power into the realm, even if he gets her eye color wrong on the portrait. fights for her honor in the purge, even if he ties with tom. and then they get to the mirror realm.

_are you truly happy in your role?_ the book asks. the ink is so dark it seems like it’s been sewn into the page, absorbing the faint light of the cracking, leaking end rods. the boys are back in their own mock temples, no doubt undergoing their own trials, and he is safely tucked away beneath the broken roof of purpur and quartz. the not-quite rain drips restlessly through the cracks, making the floor of the fake temple flood with reflective puddles. _wouldn’t shadows make for better company?_

it’s simple questions, but it feels like someone is watching him too closely. like someone’s been paying attention. the reflection in the puddles at his feet almost feels too normal, too unchanged‒ the shadows speak nothing but truth, and for whatever reason that doesn’t make him feel uneasy. the water’s at his ankles, and he doesn’t really care, he just doesn’t _care_. he kills the turtle anyways, if just to watch it dissipate into smoke‒ it pours down like liquid, twisting like eels around his feet, and when he turns to the open way, a figure stands, watching not with menace, but curiosity.

he hasn’t lost his manners. he nods politely. they seem surprised, but amused, and nod in return‒ when he blinks, they are gone.

later on. there are gifts the darkness leaves him, little things, inconsequential in the long run. the potion sits neatly in the ender chest, cold in its bottle. he turns it over contemplatively every night between his hands, watches his fingertips turn blue more so than feels it, numb as they’ve becoming holding it. the gem is smooth but fragile, almost like glass, like he could crush it in his palm, and it would crumble into nothing but dust, it’s only trace the magic he can see dancing inside. it’s not a gem, he thinks, but a _seed_ , and he can feel it’s little pricking hooks digging into the gloves he’s taken to wearing so no one can see the lingering beginnings of frostbite. he affixes it to a chain that he tucks around his neck, and isn’t surprised later when he finds it missing.

the cat that had approached with it moves too much like smoke for him to be able to ignore. he lets it tuck itself up around his neck, it’s tail curling comfortably around his arm when he’s not too focused on something. he keeps watching, keeps exploring, keeps weighing the scales and keeping the balance, like he’s expected to, like he’s _told_ ‒ and then they end up in the prison.

sitting in that cell is just another bout of the cold‒ he can hear tom, and _dianite_ , both complaining about the chill, and distantly he wonders why he’s able to hear dianite at all, when they aren’t connected. but the dark ice settles neatly into his bones without question, barely a shiver running up his spine. his cloak is damp, and his shirt sticks to his skin, and there’s water dripping down his face‒ but still. he’s just _numb_.

when the door swings open, he stares at it for a good, good long while. should he leave?

no‒ rather‒

_why_ should he leave?

_curious_ , the darkness whispers. their voice is echoing through the rest of the prison‒ he can hear their agent taunting the others, picking and pecking at their insecurities, their doubt. the cat‒ he’s lovingly named it zenith‒ comes from one of the corners where there is no light, jumping up onto his lap, purring immediately, a little spot of feeling in the rest of the realm. the figure lingers in the doorway, nothing but smoke and shadow, watching him carefully. _i would’ve thought you’d left with the rest by now, captain_.

“no,” he says simply, petting gently across zenith’s back. “i don’t really see the point, exactly.”

_you don’t see a point in escaping?_

“i don’t see the point in any of it.”

_...it’s not often a mortal surprises me, captain, but you’ve done it quite a bit, now. i have to ask what you mean._

“i’m _tired_ ,” he says, and zenith stretches upwards, moving to his shoulders again. “i’m tired of serving a goddess who doesn’t care, tired of working against the people i care about for the wishes of the ones who swore ourselves too. i’m tired of upholding these scales‒ i’m tired of doing what i’m asked. i’m done _everything_ i was ever asked. but for what?”

the darkness is silent for a time, and he hears tom and karl and dec all crying for him, calling to him. someone mentioned a vent, and a puzzle‒ he’s the one who knows what the lock is supposed to look like, he has to help guide them. “and i’m tired of that,” he adds. “i’m tired of being the one everyone looks to. i love them, they’re my family, but i want to be _alone_. i want to stay out of things, for _once_.”

_you aren’t tired, captain_ , the darkness says, and steps out of the doorway as jordan stands. _you’re exhausted, and you’re overworked. they’re using you like you mean nothing._

“maybe i do,” he says, and pushes through the smoke.

but the words linger in his head when he gets them all out, directs them to the portal. it closes and he wonders‒ he _hopes_ ‒ that he’ll be trapped there for longer. that ianite can’t get him out right away. maybe here he can find a little respite, a little bit of a moment of peace, because that’s the whole thing about the mirror realm, about the darkness. the silence and the cold bring him a respite from everything. when he’s numb, he doesn’t find he minds any of this much at all. ianite pulls him out anyways.

that night he lays in bed until he can’t anymore. the torches are all blown out, nothing but the lingering smell of burning, and the only light is from the stars too far above him to reach, the distant reflections of tom and karl’s far off islands in the water. the moon is new and missing from the dark blue above him, and he can taste winter on the air, the oncoming storms of snow and such. dianite is still trapped in the prison, he thinks, and tom is probably beside himself with upset.

he throws off his blanket, not that it does much anyways, and steps outside into the biting night, trails his way down to the beach and lets the water lap at his feet.

“if i asked it of you,” he says to the emptiness, “would you allow me rest?”

_you aren’t doing this for rest_ , the darkness replies, and lingers over him like a ghost. _but yes, i would allow it. i would allow you anything, should you be my agent, my champion._

“perhaps we can make an agreement, then,” he shrugs, his hair tossed by the winds of the oncoming storm. “because you’re right‒ it’s not a physical ailment, is it.”

_your inner balance calls for an upset, captain,_ the darkness agrees. _you are tired of being a part of the light, of the cycles._

“then it’s time, i think.”

_of your own words, captain. i cannot accept you unless you make the offer, and the vow._

he smiles. the cold is no longer numb, now, burning into his blood and making him breath a little more clearly. he doesn’t mind this much at all.

“as the once champion of balance, i come bearing a vow to the ones above that be: i unbind myself from the goddess ianite, with the intent and purpose to swear myself, and my allegiance, to the powers of the darkness.”

and only the night and ocean hears him, and suddenly, he isn’t so tired.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for the rq they deadass make my fucking brain ROT
> 
> here's my [tumblr](http://transandor.tumblr.com) for the vibes 
> 
> like and subscribe- wait,


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